Page 29 of Lost Hope

“While staying alive,” Axel added. “That would be my vote.”

Jack nodded. “Knight Tactical specializes in complex operations requiring multiple skillsets. Investigation, protection, cyber intelligence, tactical response.” He gestured around the room. “Everyone here has an extensive military or law enforcement background. We’re licensed, bonded, and have connections throughout the intelligence community. Plus, we’ve been through this kind of deal ourselves.”

“More than once,” Star added.

“And what’s the cost?” Ronan asked bluntly. No point dancing around it.

Christian’s jaw tightened, but Jack held up a hand. “You’re family. Literally. And even if you weren’t, you’re SEAL brothers. No charge. But first, we need complete transparency from all three of you. Everything you know. Everything you suspect. No holding back.”

“That works both ways,” Maya said, her tone careful. “We need to know what you find. All of it. No sanitized briefings.”

“Agreed.” Jack looked at each of them in turn. “But understand what you’re buying into. We’re a team. We work together, or not at all.”

Ronan felt the weight of Christian’s stare. “And if we don’t like how you operate?”

“Then we part ways. But right now, you’re fugitives with limited options and powerful enemies. We can help. If you let us.”

Axel’s eyes were bright with possibility—or maybe just the thought of access to Knight Tactical’s impressive tech and unlimited DreamBurger meals. But beneath his eager expression, Ronan saw the tactical assessment running. His friend was convinced they needed backup.

Ronan met Maya’s questioning look. Much as he hated involving Christian’s team—hated giving his bio bro a front-row seat to his messed-up life—they were out of options. Tank was dead. Maya’s partner, too. Whoever was behind this had the resources to make three more people dead just as easily.

Not like they had any other choice. He gave Maya a tight nod.

She turned back to Jack. “We’re in.”

15

HARD CALLS

The command centerhummed with contained energy. At the far end of the polished conference table, Star and Ethan moved in perfect sync, their rapid-fire tech discussion flowing in the kind of shorthand that came from years of partnership. She’d point at something on her screen, he’d nod and type, completing her thought without a word.

Jack cleared his throat and the room snapped to attention. Crime scene photos materialized on the main screen, and Ronan’s stomach lurched. He’d seen plenty of death in his years as a SEAL, had caused more than his share. But this was Tank. Marcus Sullivan. The man who’d saved his life in Kandahar, who’d carried wounded teammates on his back through firefights. Now he looked wrong—small somehow, crumpled against his desk like a discarded uniform.

“Timeline,” Christian said quietly. “From the beginning.”

Ronan started to speak, but Maya cut in, her voice clipped and professional. “Base Commander Phillips contacted NCIS at zero one hundred hours yesterday. Marcus Sullivan had accessed classified Naval Intelligence files just before zero hundred hours Tuesday from a terminal on base.”

“A terminal he shouldn’t have had access to,” Star murmured, hands gliding over the keys.

“Exactly.” Maya nodded. “He’d been out of the service for two years. Phillips wanted Tom and me to bring Sullivan in immediately. Said it couldn’t wait till morning.”

“How about this Phillips guy?” Austin asked, eyeing Maya.

Maya shrugged. “Don’t really know him. I’ve only been at NCIS San Diego for three months.”

“No worries. I’m running Phillips now,” Ethan said, his screen reflecting in his glasses. “Star, you want to trace Marcus’s movements?”

“Already on it.”

“Tell us about the ambush.” Jack’s eyes locked onto Ronan and Axel. “Walk us through it.” He pulled up a tactical display.

“We were following Benson’s SUV toward the naval base,” Ronan said. “Three minutes in, I spotted the tail cars.”

“How many?” Christian asked.

“Three vehicles on us, two on Benson. Professional. Military precision.” Ronan’s jaw tightened. “They split into two teams—one to separate us from Benson, one to take him down.”

“Classic Special Operations containment formation,” Christian noted.

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